


little thief

by uglygods



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, I'm adding tags as I go, Illegal Immigration, Multi, Red Room (Marvel), and also confused, avengers x pjo, main character is russian, oc is daughter of hermes, she's so confused
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglygods/pseuds/uglygods
Summary: The children of Hermes were considered excellent at many things, and escaping the Red Room is one of them. Or, at least, for Stefanya it is.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fanfiction mentions child abuse and neglect. Also child-on-child violence and murder. The main character is briefly part of the Red Room, what did you expect?
> 
> All my translations are from Google, so if you happen to be fluent in Russian, please don't end me.
> 
> самолет - Airplane.
> 
> Россия - Russia.
> 
> Да - Yes.
> 
> I'm adding more tags to this as they become relevant!

Stefanya followed Mama, the respectful three steps behind like she had been taught. The past three days have caused some of the most confusion in her short five years of life. First, her and Mama got onto a machine - called a самолет - and flew to a new place called Россия.

In America, Mama spoke a mixture of Russian and English, one that used to get odd looks from neighbors and those in public. However, since the самолет landed in Россия, she has spoken primarily Russian.

"Мы с кем-то встречаемся." Spoke Mama, not looking over her shoulder towards Stefanya.

_We're meeting someone._

The child could hardly contain a gasp, and in English, asked, "Who?" She didn't remember Mama mentioning another person, though, to be far, she never often explained things to her. Mama made it clear that Stefanya was an unwanted addition to her life, and she would repay with every breath for existing, as Mama could have changed that by now.

"Ask not." Snapped the woman, also in English, turning around to face her child and grabbing her wrist with a harsh grip. Her voice was thick with a Russian accent and her words dripped with poison. "Curious girls will not be needed, are we clear?"

Lowering her eyes to the ground, Stefanya nodded, "Да, Mama."

Mama nodded once, let go of her wrist, and turned back around. Still not moving, her brown eyes scanned the crowd, searching for whom she was to meet. When brown met brown, she grinned.

"ребенок, встретить Madame B."

_Child, meet Madame B._

* * *

She never had a last name. Mama never told her it, she simply said, "You are Stefanya, never more, never less."

It was no different in the Red Room. They didn't care if the girls had names or not, they didn't care if the girls had thoughts or feelings or wants or fears. They only cared how hard she can fight, how good she can shoot, how precise she can stab, how quickly she can kill.

There was a girl she often spoke to when no one could hear. Annika wasn't unlike Stefanya. They were part of the same group, both of their mothers sold them into the organization, and both wanted nothing more than to escape. Escape. Escape.

Annika had a last name, Utkin. She gave Stefanya a Russian last name, too, Ivanov.

In return, Stefanya Ivanov killed her a year later.

The want for escape only worsened.

_Escape. Leave. Get away. Escape. Freedom. Find a way._

The words repeated in her head every hour of the day. Whatever they did the brainwash the girls did little to her, like there was some block in her mind. She didn't question it, she only thanked whoever was there to listen for the help.

_Escape. Leave. Freedom._

It seemed like a male's voice, one she had never heard before. But she couldn't ignore it. At night, when their hands were handcuffed to their rock hard beds and those around her slept, she fell victim to the words pounding into her head.

_Escape. Escape. Escape._

So she listened.

She placed her free fingertips against the lock of her cuff, feeling in her mind the interworking of it. Unaware that not every person had this ability, she hardly used it, assuming it to be a typical function like eating or using the bathroom. And she hardly did those, either. Red Room had little time for girls to be humans.

Hearing the satisfying click of the handcuffs coming undone, Stefanya removed it from her wrist and rubbed the raw skin. You'd assume, after three years of the same treatment, she'd be used to it.

She never was.

Removing the thin sheet from her body and hesitantly placing her bare feet against the ice cold floor, she held her breath, listening for the smallest sound to indicate someone was awake, or that she was found out and someone was coming to fix it. To fix the broken cog in their never-ending machine.

When no one made themselves known, she stood, choosing to ignore the scratching of the uncomfortable nightgown and the feeling of the loose pieces of her dark hair falling into her face.

Once more staying still, finding that there's never a problem with being too careful (especially when you live with future assassins and their teachers), she relished in the silence of night and reached under her mattress.

Her fingers clutched over the stray nail under said mattress. She found it coming out of the wall by the singular toilet the girls had access to, as if taunting them. Daring them to use it. Use it on yourself or another, it said. And she listened.

Stefanya wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone who got in her way of freedom.

She walked on her tiptoes, careful not to make a noise as she seemingly glided through the dark. This was a part of her training, to not be heard or seen unless wanted. How to blend into the shadows - how to become a shadow.

When Stefanya found herself at the massive door, she placed her hand against the lock, once again seeing a map of how it worked in her mind. It was complicated, obviously specially made and vigorously worked on, and her ability was rusty, so it took her several minutes to get it unlocked.

And when it did, it made a louder sound than before. Her eyes snapped open, head looking over her shoulder and ears tuned into the dark. She dared anyone to awake, clutching the nail tough enough that she felt her own nails, kept long enough to do harm if needed, stabbing in her palm.

As if they heard her threats, no one stirred.

Mentally begging anyone who listened, rather it be a God or Fate, for her plan of escape to work, Stefanya slowly opened the door. It made not a single noise, which she once again thanked whoever took pity on her, and she slipped through the crack.

For the second time she moved soundless through the shadows, her body pressed against the wall as she only allowed herself small breaths, therefore to not alert anyone to her presence. She waited until she saw a guard, and hoped she saw them before they saw her.

She couldn't afford for this to fail.

Stefanya's luck ran thin when she saw the heads of two adults talking. She felt all hope deflated from her and was tempted to make a quick escape to the somewhat safety of the sleeping room when she saw one was Madame B.

She had never witnessed Madame fight, but the woman herself was cruel, uncaring, and terrifying. She cared about nothing but crafting the perfect assassins, and any weakness was either quickly crushed or dealt with via death. She watched with a wicked smile as girls fought against themselves, killing each other or causing permanent harm. She was the one who told Stefanya to snap dear Annika Utkin's fragil neck when she had won a sparring match.

Madame B. was her nightmare personified.

She crouched down as far as she could, attempting to hear any snippets of the conversation. She found herself too far to get a good grasp, and was about to make her way back to the hard arms of her mattress, when she witnessed Madame make her way down the otherside of the hallway.

It felt like a massive weight had been removed from her shoulders, and she clutched the nail just a slight bit tighter, preparing to shove it through the man's temple if he got too close for comfort.

Fate must have been truly on her side, for the man soon followed after Madame, to where she assumed the adults slept. She counted to ten, then twenty, then thirty, and then thirty-five, and when no more people made themselves known, she moved once more.

Three years ago, when she was five-years-old and innocent towards the true horrors of the world, she walked through the doors with a handful of other girls in her age range. As the years passed and she hadn't left the Red Room, the existence and placement of said door had become fuzzy.

She had an understanding, though, and made quick movements to the general area. It didn't take her long to locate the door, the only thing stopping her from the sweet taste of freedom, and at the sight of it, she made hasty steps towards it.

Pressing her palm directly against the lock, she, for the third time that night, allowed her mind to absorb all it offered. It was even more complex and hard to crack, and she deemed it nearly impossible to lock-pick. Her mind spinned as she made quick work to unlock it, feeling an energy drain as it used anything she offered in order to become unlocked.

When the sound of success filled the air, so did the sound of defeat. The noise of footsteps allerted Stefanya to the presence of another, and clutching her nail hard enough that her nails once again dug into her skin, she moved into a fighting stance.

Her blue eyes met the green of Karine, another child tarnished by the Red Room, and who she assumed would be soon to die. The girl, though she packed a punch and had the body strength needed to fight, lacked the gracefulness and sleath Madam B. also demanded in the girls. Her ballet left something to be desired, as well. She knew right away what she hoped to get from this: By bringing in an escapee, especially someone like Stefanya (who was considered only a few places behind the top of the class) would help bring her image up to the instructors.

"Что делаешь?" Karine asked, though she assumed she both knew and didn't care.

_What are you doing?_

Stefanya refused to let her gaze waver from the girl standing in front of her, knowing fully well that she could be as deadly as anyone else in the building. She too had blood on her hands, much like herself. "Свобода. Я не могу остаться здесь."

_Freedom. I can't stay here._

"Вы можете. Ты будешь."

_You can. You will._

She shook her head, preparing herself to fight. "Я не могу."

_I can't._

Karine frowned, her own body tensing into her version of a fighting stance. She raised her arms, not an idiot to what was about to happen. Yet, she spoke: "Меня убьют, Мне жаль."

_They will kill me, I'm sorry._

"Я знаю."

_I know._

Like a vicious animal, Stefanya attacked, sending a foot towards the other's jaw and feeling the hard contact of bone benief the ball of her foot. As she attempted to regain her footing, Karine recovered and grabbed a handful of her French braid, black contrasting against pale skin, and yanked her towards the wall, shoving her face against it. All Stefayna offered was a small noise of pain, though she was used to worse when she fought with the others.

In response, and when Karine's grip didn't falter, she found herself with no choice but to use the nail. Holding it in her small hand like one would a knife, she knew as much force as she could into stabbing the girl, and managed to sink it into the flesh of her hand, which caused her to let go of her hair.

With the nail gone and her opponent occupied, Stefanya used this time to prepare for another strike. Kicking the wounded girl in the gut, she watched the air be knocked from her small body as she feel against the floor, knife still in hand and said wound leaking a dark crimson shade.

She stalked towards her prey like a lioness desperate to feed her cubs, placing her bare foot against her stomach, watching with an ill satisfaction as the young girl, no older than herself, stared up at her, wide eyed and terrified, "Мерси."

_Mercy._

"Нет."

_No._

For the second time in her short life, Stefanya snapped her victim's neck. And for the first time, she considered it an easy kill.

After giving a long, sad look towards the dead girl, she pulled the knife from her hand, wiped the blood off against her nightgown, and found herself facing the door. She reached her nail-free hand out to open it, only to find herself interrupted.

"You fought well." Madame B.'s voice caused goosebumps to cover her skin, and for her mouth to feel like she ate some glue. She didn't turn to face the older woman, and instead opened the door. She wished she could witness any shock the woman might have shown.

"I know." And, without any hesitation on her part, Stefanya sprinted out the door, feeling like she ran fast enough to be considered a blur.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This fanfiction mentions child abuse and neglect. Also child-on-child violence and murder. The main character is briefly part of the Red Room, what did you expect?
> 
> All my translations are from Google, so if you happen to be fluent in Russian, please don't end me.
> 
> In order of appearance:
> 
> Россия - Russia.
> 
> Сигареты - Cigarette.  
> -
> 
> For reference:
> 
> If a character speaks and it's all in italics, that's (from-now-on), Russian. I'll still refer to certain words in Russian, but this just makes it easier to read.
> 
> Also, I Googled how long a boat ride from Russia to Norway would be, and got no answer. Oops.

It was awful to find out you're seasick your first time on a boat. It was even worse when you were surrounded by bad-smelling men with a few missing teeth who spoke a handful of languages you've never heard of before.

This is the situation Stefanya found herself in.

She was alone in a small town in Россия, freezing half-to-death and shaking in her stolen shoes when a man who called himself Viktor found her.

He was a kind man in his early thirties, with white-blonde hair to his neck and soft gray eyes. His skin was dirt-covered, and his hands looked like they'd never been washed before. Viktor walked up to her, holding a bowl in his hands, when he asked:

_"Have you run away?"_

Stefanya didn't know what run away meant, but she technically did run from the Academy, so she nodded. If she wouldn't have been so tired and cold, she would have been alert. Now, she was thinking she wouldn't mind if they found her. At least she'd be warm.

Viktor, smiling sadly, held out his hands. She looked from his dirty face to the contents inside, which was some kind of soup with chunks of meat and other vegetables floating inside. It smelled amazing.

Her stomach burned with hunger. She was starving, something she hadn't noticed before. However, caution set in her bones. She didn't know this man, or why he was handing her food. She didn't trust him.

Viktor laughed good-heartedly, "Don't worry, it's not poisoned. You're hungry." It wasn't a question, and he was correct. She threw caution out the window and cupped the bowl in her hands, enjoying the warmth in her numb fingers.

" _Thank you_." Her voice sounded small compare to his, which was deep and spoken as if each word held the secret to world peace. Stefanya took a gulp of soup. She'd trust him for now, especially since the soup was good. " _I'm Stefanya._ "

" _And I'm Viktor_."

An hour had passed, she drank the soup and thanked him once more. He just smiled, and said he was happy she enjoyed it.

" _I live on a boat_ ," Viktor's voice broke the silence, " _where do you live_?"

" _This bench. What's a boat_?"

Viktor's smile turned into a frown, which seemed alien on his face. He brushed a chunk of black hair behind her ear, Stefanya would have moved away, but it didn't feel wrong. It made a warmth spread in her stomach. It reminded her of Annika. " _You don't know what a boat is_?"

She shook her head. Sure, she'd heard of them: Emiliya, a girl who slept in the bed beside her's at the Academy, came to Russia on a boat. She was from a faraway place called New Zealand, where her mother had gone to have her in the hopes her father wouldn't find her. It didn't work. He made a deal with Madame B. to give Emiliya away for a sum of money, like Stefanya.

Emiliya had a last name when she got there, though.

" _Do you want to see a boat_?"

She nodded, and that lead her to present times, two days later. Viktor felt bad, he said, he wanted to keep her safe because it wasn't good for a girl her age to be alone. He offered to have her pose as his daughter, so she could come on the boat with him.

Stefanya jumped at the chance, not thinking it through. All she did think was that he was nice, the boat wasn't as cold as the bench, he let her keep her nail, and wherever Norway was, it wasn't Russia. They wouldn't look for her farther than Russia, she wasn't worth it.

Within an hour of boat travel, Stefanya was throwing up over the side. Viktor, and another man named Marco (he spoke Spanish, another language the Red Room taught her) laughed and said she just needed her sea-legs.

After her second day of on-and-off nausea, he told her to rest in their cabin, which they also shared with Marco. She slept in the same bed as Viktor, but he made sure there was always a pillow between them.

" _Don't want anyone getting the wrong idea, girly_." He said when she asked why, playfully pulling on her braid, if it still could be considered that.

She didn't know what he meant, but nodded like she did.

When Viktor came back that night, his face was tired and he smelled like seawater. His clothes were drenched with what she assumed to be the same. Stefanya made a face. Was he going to get into bed all wet, too?

" _Well_ ," Viktor started, pulling a cигареты out of a small box he kept in underneath Marco's bunk. Marco wasn't aware. He used a match to light the end of it, then used the same match to light the candle on the small dresser the room had to offer, " _I've never learned your last name_."

" _Oh_ ," she sat up, ignoring the weird feeling of the blanket. It wasn't really scratchy, just… odd. " _It's Ivanov_."

He shook his head, inhaling the smoke from the small stick. (He blew it out away from her, though it was pointless, since they were an enclosed space. She didn't care, so neither mentioned it. He'd already explained the health risks three different times until she agreed not to steal one while he worked. She didn't know what lung cancer meant, but she did know that she didn't care. It seemed cool.) " _It should be Ivanova._ "

" _What_?" Her eyebrows shot up, and now she had perked up to attention. " _How do you know_?"

" _Girls got an A added to their last name_ ," another exhale of smoke, he used his free hand to wave it away.

" _I'm Stefanya Ivanova_?"

" _You sure are_." He grinned at her, and she smiled back. He tapped her nose, causing it to scrunch up, and laughed. " _I'm not real sure what my last name is, anymore_."

Stefanya frowned, getting out of the bed and wrapping her arms around her frame. The bruises from training in the Academy had begun to fade. When Viktor first saw them, his face fell and he mumbled something about worthless people. She was afraid he meant her, so she didn't ask about it.

" _Why_?" She now regretted leaving the bed. She was cold.

" _Well, it's been a long time since anyone's asked. I'm thirty-six, y'know._ " He put the cигареты out on his thumb, which neither of them reacted to. " _An old man with no family_."

" _I've got no family too,_ " She wasn't sure if Mama counted. Mama never called her family, it was Annika who taught her the word. " _Maybe you can be an Ivanova, like me_?"

He was silent for a long moment, placing the used cигареты back into its box and under the mattress. He'd use the same one for several days, he once said. He couldn't afford them often. " _Ivanov_."

" _What_?" She liked that word, it summed up all her questions to a simple one-syllable word.

" _I'm Viktor Ivanov, because I'm a male._ "

* * *

It was a week and six days later when they made it to Norway. At that time, a lot had happened. Including her sneaking a cигареты and coughing so badly she feared she would throw up her lungs. Viktor wasn't happy when he found out, and threw his cигареты's overboard. She felt so bad, she offered to throw herself overboard as well. He wasn't happy about that, either. More horrified.

They left the boat hand-in-hand, Viktor having thrown his single bag of possessions over his shoulder. Marco stood on her other side. He'd find something called a hotel and would wait for another boat to ask for work help again. Viktor said he wanted to wait in Norway for a while, now that he had Stefanya.

It turned out that Viktor was fluent in English, like Stefanya and Marco. So they spoke in that, as Marco didn't understand Russian and Viktor didn't understand Spanish. On the boat, they made her be a translator.

Now the two just felt stupid.

"We'll find a hotel too, right?" Stefanya asked, looking up at Viktor. He seemed even dirtier surrounded by the clean people of Norway, who spoke Norwegian. She liked the sound of Norwegian, but none of them knew how to speak that, so she hoped they wouldn't stay long.

He nodded, ruffling her hair, which caused her to huff. Marco could braid hair, he said he had four sisters, and redone her that morning. She didn't need him already messing it up. "That we will, Little Thief."

Stefanya rolled her eyes, something she learned from Marco, and crossed her arms over her chest. She earned that title after stealing the cигареты, and hated it. She wasn't a thief! Maybe she stole a pair of boots, a pair of pants (that Viktor called jeans) back in Russia, and now a cигареты, but that didn't set it in stone!

He laughed, "Don't get an attitude now, little lady. You're the one who stole the cigarette."

She frowned, "Cigarette?"

"Oh, right. The English word for cигареты."

"That sounds stupid."

They got a hotel room, with Marco across the hallway. He said he 'wanted to bring home some nice ladies,' which caused Viktor to scoff. Stefanya wondered who the ladies were, and why he was bringing them to the hotel room. Neither answered her.

Viktor was out, saying he needed to go buy something. She didn't know how, considering all of his money was Russian rubles.

Currently, Stefanya was going through his bag, looking for her nail. She wanted to keep it close in case, even though Viktor had a small pistole on him. In case of robbers, he said.

"Hey, kid."

She must have jump out of her skin, clutching her fingers around her nail and automatically forming her fighting position. What she saw was a man with graying black hair, familiar blue eyes, and dressed in clothes a jogger would wear.

"Whoa, okay." He lifted his hands, and looked almost smug. She didn't let herself falter. He could be a robber not expecting her to fight back. Or someone looking to drag her back to the Red Room.

No, she wasn't worth it.

She threw herself at him, not bothering to let him explain why he was there. She didn't like that a man older than Viktor in their hotel room. It was theirs! Stefanya was tired of sharing, and Viktor said that no one but them could live in the room. She went to stab him with the nail, but was meant with nothing but air.

"Once again, whoa." She spun around, now seeing the man sitting on the edge of her bed (this time not shared with Viktor). Did he manage to escape her? How did he move so quickly?

He gave her a grin, "I can hear your questions, and let me offer no answer." He snapped his fingers, and produced a dark green bag in his hands. "A gift, from me to you. Don't tell my dad, this isn't allowed."

And he was gone.

Stefanya would like to claim she kept her cool. That she accepted that this man just did all of that and took a peek at whatever was in the bag. Well, instead she screamed so loudly that poor Marco thought she was being murdered.

She said she saw a spider and hid the bag. He didn't ask any more questions.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This fanfiction mentions child abuse and neglect. Also child-on-child violence and murder. The main character is briefly part of the Red Room, what did you expect?
> 
> For reference:
> 
> If a character speaks and it's all in italics, that's (from-now-on), Russian. I'll still refer to certain words in Russian, but this just makes it easier to read.
> 
> Forewarning, I don't know anything about fighting. Please don't get mad at me if something is wrong.
> 
> Also, if you're from Norway, sorry if I got anything wrong.

_Her body burned, pulses of pain flashing through every limb. She kept her eyes down, arms up, and her toes pointed in her ballet shoes._

_Stefanya could hear the clicking heels of Madam B., with her sharp eyes and sharper tongue, she could point out any flaw and make sure the same flaw would never happen in any means possible._

_"Fighting formation, girls," her voice filled the silent air, each Russian word spoken like it was the most important word in the whole language. Madam B. always spoke like that, and it never failed to set Stefanya's nerves haywire._

_It didn't take them longer than a second to form their stances, each unique to their own fighting strengths and abilities._

_Her arms come up, hands formed into a fish. Her right hand went level to her chin, and the left only a centimeter below it. Her left foot went before her right, knees bent, and she put all her weight on the balls of her feet to make kicking easier._

_Across from her was Annika. Her freckled face was still chubby with youth, and her blonde fringe just nearly reached her eyes. Her feet were done the same was as Stefanya's, but her right hand was straight instead of a fist._

_"You will spar with the girl before you," Stefanya made eye contact with Annika, blue into green. She saw her arms falter, but one stern glare from Madam B. caused her to once more become a statue. "Start."_

_Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Karine charge at her opponent, her ginger curls flapping behind her like a cape. Isidora, the name of the girl she was fighting, gracefully escaped each power-filled punch the other sent her way. Karine let out a shout of rage and kicked her leg out, knocking Isidora off of her feet._

_Stefanya turned her attention back to Annika._

* * *

"Stefi, wake up." Stefanya groaned, rolling over on the bed. Her shoulder was shaken, and apart of her told her to get up, it could be a threat, but the exhausted eight-year-old in her in return said, who cares, let's sleep!

There was a chuckle, followed by another shake, and Stefanya let out a long, dramatic groan as she opened her eyes. Everything was blurry, so she blinked several times, and the smiling face of Viktor formed.

" _No, tired_." She groggily said in Russian, reaching both hands up to rub the sleep from her eyes. When she deemed them okay enough, she took a quick glance around the hotel room, and found it person-less, other than her and Viktor. She was still on edge since the disappearing man, which happened exactly four days ago.

" _You're only tired because you slept so long, Stefi_." He laughed and ruffled her hair, which caused her to stick her tongue out. "It's ten-thirty, you've slept over ten hours. Time to get up."

"We speaking in English now?" She asked, eyebrows furring. She didn't like switching so quickly between languages, she was only really good at Russian, and her English was getting rusty. But, according to Viktor, they were trying to go to America, so she would have to work on it.

"It's we're speaking, and yes. Practise." He pulled off his shirt and pulled on one of their newer ones. Stefanya had stolen them clothes, though she lied and told him some nice ladies gave them to her. She didn't steal anything else, because Viktor had a long conversation with her about how stealing was bad after she offered to.

In Stefanya's opinion, if it's so bad it shouldn't be so easy.

She crawled out of her hotel bed, seemingly swallowed in Viktor's shirt she slept in. The hotel came with a washer and dryer for everyone who stayed there to use, so their clothes come back smelling floral. There was also a shower in their room, so they stopped smelling so bad.

Clean, Viktor had tan skin - from working in the sun, Stefanya guessed - shoulder-length blonde hair, brown eyes, and the start of a beard.

Her own hair, which was still an inky black clean, was getting long, reaching the bottom of her back. Her skin stayed as pale as ever, and her eyes seemed to have a small sparkle not there before.

Viktor ruffled her hair once more, then went into the bathroom with a soft click of a door. This allowed Stefanya to get changed. She wiggled out of the shirt, threw it onto the clothes pile in the corner, and put on a long-sleeved pink shirt and an odd denim piece of clothing Viktor called overalls. She liked overalls, because, in her own opinion, she looked very nice in them.

After she was changed, she got onto her hands and knees on the floor. She reached her right arm underneath her hotel bed, patted around the area. When her fingers found the feeling of a bag, she pulled it out.

It looked the same four days ago, when the strange man gave it to her. Inside was four different things: A dagger made out of some brownish-gold metal, a jar of some amber liquid, a baggy of small squares, and lastly, a piece of paper.

**CAMP-HALF-BLOOD'S VERY OWN _AMBROSIA_ & _NECTAR_**

**Be wary, eat or drink too much, and you'll no longer exist!**

And it was written in Russian.

* * *

By the time Viktor had showered, dressed, and left the bathroom, Stefanya had pulled on her (very own!) pair of socks and tennis shoes, and was working on attempting to braid her hair. Marco had shown her how, but she was still struggling. The bag was once again shoved under her bed.

"Today's New Year's," Viktor was tying the laces on his boots, beside the open hotel window so he could smoke his cigarette. "Wanna go eat somewhere nice? Get icecream?"

Stefanya's nose scrunched up as she finished off her braid. She looked him through the dresser mirror she stood before, and shrugged. "What's New Year's?"

"You don't know what New Year's is?"

"No. Or icecream."

Viktor mumbled something she couldn't hear, but she did recognize it as Russian, and threw his hands up. "Well, Little Thief, we'll just have to get you some."

* * *

Stefanya followed after Viktor and Marco, though, unlike years before with Mama, she had chosen to this time.

She found that she enjoyed walking behind Viktor - though their hands remained together, he said he didn't want to lose her - as it allowed her to watch his movements.

They couldn't read the names of any of the shops, as they were all in Norweigan, though that didn't deter the two adults from finding an ice cream shop.

Viktor and Marco stopped in front of a place with a big drawing of three pink circles above a brown triangle. Stefanya frowned, looking between the two men as she moved to be beside them. "What is that a shape of?" She pointed her free hand at the pink circles.

"Icecream," Marco responded, "strawberry, to be exact. You don't know what icecream looks like?"

She shook her head, furring her eyebrows together in thought. "How do you eat shapes?"

The two men shared a laugh.

The woman working there that day spoke English, which allowed Viktor to order a Stefanya a single scoop of chocolate icecream. It came in a waffle cone, which was still shaped like a triangle.

It didn't take her more than two licks to decide that chocolate icecream on a waffle cone was now her favorite food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because, at least I think so, Greek words appear to demigod readers as the language they're best at, that's why Stefanya believes the paper is written in Russian.
> 
> This chapter was sorta like whip-lash, with it going from a memory of girls fighting to Stef's first time eating ice cream.
> 
> The next chap will be longer, I promise!


End file.
